


Thank You for Calling

by duointherain



Category: Captain America (Movies), Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Vampires, call center
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-19 21:21:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7377841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duointherain/pseuds/duointherain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Civil War, Steven and Bucky are working at a call center, hiding out.  They are unaware that people have been disappearing, but fortunately Sam and Dean Winchester are on the scene to figure out why. Sam is pretty sure Steve is a vampire.... but Dean's sure that Bucky just isn't right...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Thank You for Calling  
By Max

Disclaimer: I do not own characters from the Marvel Universe or from Supernatural

 

“Thank you for calling Acme Supernatural Supplies and Supplements. My name is Steve. How may I help you?” Steve Rogers sat on a chair that wouldn’t pass OSHA standards, but thanks to a little duct tape, was doing fine enough for the day. He had one wedge of a six sided desk, which he shared with five other people, all tethered to the same pod of demi-cubicles. There were thirty other little pods, and then some larger desks for the supervisors. He wore a faded yellow polo shirt and khakis, running shoes, and a well used headset that also had a little duct tape. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

The voice in his headset spoke in clipped, high pitched, “Yes. I can. Hear. you. You sent me three boxes of wolfsbane, and no astragalus. This is the second time my order has been done incorrectly.” 

“I’m very sorry,” Steve said genuinely. “May I please have your phone number or your last name so that I can pull up your account?”

“OH. My. God. Are you an idiot? Everyone else I call just has my account come up for them!”

“I want to get your account pulled up right away, Ma’am. May I please have your phone number?”

“You sound like Captain America. Do you think you’re Captain America because your name is Steve? What’s your last name?”

“Were not allowed to share our last names, Ma’am. I’d like to help you with your account. May I please have your phone number?”

“I bet your name isn’t even Steve. What is it really? I bet its Mohammed or Quan or something. Where are you located? You speak English too good to be an American.”

Steve’s right eye twitched. “My name is Steve. It’s a very common name. It’s un-American to judge people by their names, Ma’am. May I please have your phone number so that I can look up your account and help you with your order?”

“Did you just call me un-American, you stupid idiot? I want to talk to your supervisor!”

“Of course, Ma’am,” Steve said, relieved until he saw Bucky leaning against his short non-privacy providing more cubby than cubical wall. The man triggered more instinct in him than thought sometimes and that was also a bit un-American. He wore a thin black tee-shirt, jeans that rode his hips just a little low, his dark hair bleached blond at the tips, and god save the president, he was smiling, “May I place you on a brief hold, Ma’am?”

“You idiot. You’re an idiot. You can’t get me to your supervisor unless you put me on hold. Put me on hold!” 

“Yes, Ma’am. It’ll be just a moment,” Steve said pleasantly, but the moment he pushed the hold button his relief tipped like the tilt-a-whirl into something else entirely. “Bucky. I thought break wasn’t until 11:30.”

Bucky winked. Steve smiled nervously. Those dark eyes were like kittens and moonlight and what Steve imagined whiskey must be like... exciting and wicked and bad for one’s control. Bucky set a cup of coffee down on Steve’s desk. “I thought you needed some coffee.”

And see? Innocent. Just friends. That’s all. Steve’s cheeks colored slightly. “Thanks. I have an escalation I have to take care of.” Steve took the coffee though, sipped it through the thin plastic lid. It was perfect coffee, just the way he liked it and that only gave him more un-American thoughts about his very best friend. 

Bucky winked again. A tingle danced over Steve’s neck, swirling up some kind of mutant fire in his belly. “See you at lunch.”

“Yes, of course,” Steve said, glad they were there, that they were safe. Then the supervisor line picked up, “Hi! Yes, Toshi, I have an escalation for you. No, no I didn’t get her name. I’m sorry. Of course, It will be just a moment.”

Steve sighed as the call transferred. He cleared his throat, “Thank you for calling Acme Supernatural Supplies and Supplements. My name is Steve. How may I help you?”

 

Sam sighed, a bit of chocolate hair in his face, eyebrow arched. “What do you mean they didn’t hire you? They’ll hire anyone.”

Dean shrugged, looking his brother right in the face like he had no idea how that happened. “I think I failed the typing test.”

“Twenty people have gone missing in the last year and they all worked for this company. Are you saying you can’t type?”

Defensive, Dean’s shoulders rose, one eye squinted. “Well, you know, I’ve never actually typed a monster to death! It’s a little outside my skillset.”

“Fine,” Sam grumbled. “I start tomorrow, but think I’ve got a lead. Did you see the really pretty one, good posture, honey brown hair, blue eyes?” 

“Do you want to fuck him or stake his vampire ass?” Dean snarked back. “There’s another one. Walks like he’s in heat with a metal arm. It’s just not fucking natural.”

“I didn’t see him, but there is something not right here.”

“Yeah. Food. Let’s get food.”

“I saw a diner.” 

“Pie.”

“Yeah.”


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So for Laura's birthday, it became another cross over... Not that I don't write plenty of Gundam Wing anyway. So There's a weapon in a pocket universe... Steve and Bucky are going to go after it... as are Duo and Heero... there is going to be conflict.

Thank You for Calling 2/?  
By Max

Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing, nor do I own the Marvel Universe, or Supernatural...

Note: This chapter is for Laura’s Birthday! :) And likely the next after...

 

“Thank you for calling Acme Supernatural Supplies and Supplements. My name is Steve. How may I help you?” He sat there on his chair, alert and cheerful. 

“I just have some questions,” a younger girl asked. 

“Of course, I’d be happy to answer any questions you may have. I feel I should advise you thought you must be 18 years old to purchase products from Acme Supernatural Supplies and Supplements. May I have your name please?”

“I’m Karissa. I’m fifteen, but I’m going to be sixteen in two weeks. On the page about spells, it says that, well,” she said, pausing and making odd little sounds like she was chewing her lip. “Well, I just want to know if they work. Do love spells work?”

“Um,” Steve said, as if he were giving her question due consideration, when what he was really doing was trying to think how to answer her question honestly without getting himself fired. “They can have some benefits, but you don’t want someone falling in love with you if it’s not truly in their nature to love you. Love is a very powerful experience and sometimes the best part of that experience is to give love. I believe if you look in our book section, you’ll find a seminal work by Starhawk called Spiral Dance. She gives directions for a very powerful love spell that can not do anyone any harm.”

The earthquake shook the building only slightly, but as his chair shivered, he suddenly reassessed the sturdiness of the building his job was in. The girl talked away in his ear about why needed a love spell, some girl named Belinda who was, apparently, the most beautiful girl in school. While she talked, Steve reminded himself that his purpose was to protect the world, protect freedom, and do that he needed to maintain his freedom, not endanger his team. They needed to lay low, pay rent, buy food, stay hidden. “I do believe love is one of the most powerful forces in the world. I believe we may have just had an earthquake. It may be necessary for me to call you back.”

“But what about lust,” the girl asked urgently. “If I get the number 69 candle and I write her name on it, do you think she’ll lust for me?”

Steve rubbed between his eyes. “That might be something best discussed with your mother.” 

The girl groaned. “I don’t think you know anything about magic.”

“Magic is powerful. It’s not something to be trifled with.”

“Whatever. I want to order to #69 candles and five blessed ribbons, and some juju fix beans.” 

“Do you have a parent I can speak with so that we can complete the purchase, Karissa?”

“No. The card’s in my name. I have a job.”

“I’m sorry. I can not sell certain products to customers who are under 18.” 

“Can I talk to your supervisor, please?”

“Of course, would you like to hold?”

“Sure.”

And then there was hold music. He was going to lose this job. This was a good job though. It paid enough to cover their expenses and they didn’t have to see anyone face-to-face. It was the last place the government was going to come looking for them at. 

His email blinked and he clicked into it.

The new email was from Tony@imanasshole.com On the off chance that it was an apology, Steve clicked it open. 

“I need you and Bucky to take out a weapon for me.”

Hold music continued to play. Assholes at his fingertips, assholes in his ears, profanity in his thoughts... it called for a new job, it did.Steve replied, “You can’t email me here.”

Tony’s reply hit his inbox milliseconds before he even hit send. “Yes, I can. Obviously. I’ve just emailed you. You’re going to have a hard time staying hidden if this weapon levels Seattle. Think of all the innocent dead. You don’t want dead civilians, do you Cap?”

“Send the information to my private email.” 

“Don’t worry! :) :)” Tony replied. “I won’t let you get fired. It’s the least I can do. Oh and I sent you a package.” 

“Are you intoxicated? Is that where this is coming from? You’re never going to win Pepper’s trust like this,” Steve typed. 

“Cap, let’s just stay with saving innocent lives, shall we,” Tony replied. 

Just after he’d managed to transfer the underage girl to a supervisor who, hopefully, wasn’t going to let her buy anything either, another supervisor showed up at his desk dragging a rather large box. 

Steve smiled, a twitchy nervous smile. “Hi Tanya. How are you this afternoon?”

“Put yourself in coaching,” she said, smiling like nothing was wrong. 

Bucky had suggested they work as private investigators. That might not be such a poor idea. “Of course, how can I help?”

“You are aware that you’re not allowed to use the business address for packages or mail, right?”

“I did not request any packages or mail,” Steve defended himself.

“Yeah? Explain this,” she said pushing the large narrow box closer to him. “Go on, open it up. I’d love to see what was so important that you had to risk your job to get it. And really? What could you possibly order from imanasshole.com anyway?”

“Um,” Steve said, not really having a good answer for that, but Tony’s apologies were about as poor as one could get. Inside the box though, now that was a decent apology. He pulled his shield up and found a great smile. That apology might be better than it had seemed at first inspection. 

“Great,” Tanya snapped. “Fan junk. You know he’s not a hero, right?”

“Yes, Ma’am. It won’t happen again.” 

“See that it doesn’t.” 

Steve pushed the box under his desk, a genuine smile on his face. There was hope for the world. “Thank you for calling Acme Supernatural Supplies and Supplements. My name is Steve. How may I help you?”

 

Duo Maxwell sat on the steps behind the homeless shelter. War hadn’t touched Seattle much. That alone would have made it an interesting city. There was a plaque in the subway about Microsoft and how he or she had brought computers to the world. Elbow on his knee, a cigarette hanging from his fingers, Duo wondered what Microsoft would think of the world now. It would suck shit to see this pretty city fall down. The Emerald City. Trowa’s green eyes. 

Duo took a long drag on his cigarette and tried not to think about color and fucking eyes made him hard. 

The door opened behind him and a gruff old voice invited him back in, “Son, we’re about to have prayers before dinner. Come in?”

“Yeah,” Duo said, carefully snuffing out his cigarette and hiding the remaining stub in his rolled up sleeve. “Coming.”

Yeah, so god, fucking forgive me for being a faggot, a murderer, and a faggot, a thief, but mostly a murder. Probably. 

Duo stood, feeling the soreness in his left knee. A police baton’ll do that to ya. 

His pocket vibrated and he pulled out his phone. It was nice, late model played all the games and God, the music was proof of divinity. The text on its lovely big screen was from Heero though. “Location?”

Duo smirked, wished his cigarette was still lit, wished he could tell Heero how fucking gorgeous his eyes were. Howard said that if he just waited it out, wanting to fuck everything would fade with time. It was just a phase. He thought if he didn’t want to fuck Heero when he thought about it him, that, well, that then life wouldn’t be fucking worth living. He knew full well that Heero was asking for his location, but replied, “Location of what?”

He turned on his find friends though and went in for prayers.

 

Heero stared at the response. Life had been so much easier before he’d met Duo. It had been so much shorter. There had been a putrefying rage that he hadn’t even had words for. He’d been sitting with Duo, a drunk Duo with a scratched up face and somehow more poetry on the tip of his tongue than Heero had known existed. That was the night his secret and covert mission of ending himself had shifted from wanting to end to just not wanting to be someone else’s weapon. 

Duo wasn’t always easy to deal with though. He was like color and song and explosions and he never ramped down. Even when he was sleeping, sprawled out on whatever bed they’d found, his braid trailing off into space that wasn’t his, he was still vivid for Heero, still drawing his attention, still a siren into unknown lands.

Three days before, Heero had told him to shut up. Duo hadn’t even been talking, not paused to draw breath, just dancing at the edge of a roof, thirty stories up, the wind whipping that braid around, a can of sugar and herbal amphetamine in one hand, headphones on, hips swaying like he was the dawn and the dusk, the cycle of life, so some beat that Heero could not hear, no matter how hard he tried. There had been this spike of resentment, rage, and he’d snapped. 

Duo hadn’t said a fucking word. He just disappeared. He wasn’t answering his calls. 

His phone was still on though and with a bit of work, Heero tracked him to a homeless shelter in Seattle. That was the easy part. Now he had to find a way to apologize. So he walked in, looking like a homeless boy, scruffy and defensive, and they let him in... Duo was there... somewhere.


End file.
